


A Shakespearean Parody

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:23:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Sleep or to read Sentinel stories, that is the question....</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shakespearean Parody

Shakespeare huh...? Boy I was tired. I didn't do to bad a job of remembering that soliloquy though...Finish it? As in the whole soliloquy? That's longer than a drabble...If I finish it to 100 words that's not the whole thing. Hmmm which to do? The whole soliloquy or a 100 word drablle? Hmmm...to write or not to write...? Ah ha! solution: I can't see why anyone would want to archive this anywhere but feel free. My apologies to the Bard, and to the rest of you I think...The metere is awful but then again, that's why I'm an author and not a bard. 

Warning; this is a really silly bit of Sentinel Slash list Shakespeare parody: A drabble by any other name is longer than intended. 

## To Sleep..A Shakespearan Parody

by Kaelleigh  


To Sleep or to read Sentinel stories, -- that is the question; whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the angst and the pathos of even more slash stories or to turn off the computer and sleep until tomorrow? -- To write-- to sleep, -- No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousands unwritten words, that the list is heir to, this consummation which we all do so devoutly wish! To read, -- or to sleep; -- to sleep! perchance to dream, aye now there's the rub...for in that sleep what dreams may come... 

(Pause here a moment, to mark the words 100 long, A drabble alone, yet not complete, fear not we've more coming along.) 

And yet more stories so inspired by must give us pause; there's the responses that makes well worth so little sleep; For who would bear the whips and scorns of to little time, the writer's bane, the questions of continuity. The pangs of how to write this love, the plot's delay, the insolence of canon and the spurs of unfinished lines or fear of incomplete works takes, When the author themselves might sleep, with little care? Who would this next scene bear?, to grunt and to sweat to wrestle out yet another tale, but for that support of listmates brought. 

(A second pause; this makes it two and now to three; into the breach once more, do come along I pray three.) (44) 

The undiscovered fiction, from whose joy no sleep may interrupt, It is but an act of love, that makes us rather bear these ills of sleeplessness, rather than to dreams we know not of? Thus fiction does make insomniacs of us all; And this the final finished work our resolution's borne out with the pale cast of dawn; and works of great love and lust, with the list's regard, their purpose do fulfill, and lose the last note line of to be finished but become real. No not now! Another plot! -- Dawn on the horizon, Be all my dreams remember'd! 

(Here now do I take a bow, for you see, this makes it total three, And each buy itself 100 words exactly, And if one was to stop, perchance to count again Fair reader you would find the little comments put within Do make five score themselves, exact -- and therefore that does make this the end.)   
  


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